from the truth, for what withwatching through the night and thinking about the ship and little RuthBellenden's loneliness in this place of mystery, and far worse thanmystery, I'd forgotten all about meal-times, and never once had askedmyself where breakfast was to come from. But now the long faces of myshipmates brought me to a remembrance of it, and when little Dolly Venncried, "Oh, captain, I am so hungry!" I began to realize what a parlousplight we were in and what a roundabout road we must tread to get outof it. Lucky for us, the old Frenchman, who had stood all this timelike a statue gazing out over the desolate sea, now bobbed up again,good Samaritan that he was, and catching Master Dolly's complaint, hespoke of breakfast on his own account.
"Ah! you hungry, you thirst, messieurs; sailor-man always likethat. Your ship gone? Never mind, he shall come back again, to-day,to-morrow, one, two, three day--pray God it be not longer, shipmate,pray God!"
A picturesque old figure standing there.]
I thought him a fine, picturesque old figure, standing there on theheadland with his long hair streaming in the wind like a woman's, andhis brawny arms outstretched as though he would call the ship back tous from the lonely ocean. Truth to tell, the place was one to fill anyman with awe. Far as the eye could see, the great waste was white withthe foam of its breaking seas; the headland itself stood up a thousandfeet like some mighty fortress commanding all the deep. Far below uswere the green valleys of the island, the woods we had raced throughlast night; pastures with little white houses dotted about on them; thebungalow itself wherein Ruth Bellenden lived. No picture from thegallery of a high tower could have been more beautiful than thatstrange land with the wild reefs lying about it and the rollerscascading over them, and the black glens above which we stood, and thegreat circle of the water like some measureless basin which the wholeearth bounded. I did not wonder that old Clair-de-Lune was silent whenhe looked down upon a scene so grand. It seemed a crime to speak offood and drink in such a place; and yet it was of these that PeterBligh must go on talking.
"We'll do the prayin', shipmate, if you'll do the cookin'," cried he,hopefully; "as for that--you speak like a wise man. 'Tis wonderful easyto pray on a full stomach! There isn't a hunger or a thirst this sideof 'Frisco which I would not pray out of this same island if you'll bepleased to bring 'em along. Weigh anchor, my man," says he, "and we'llpipe down to dinner."
Well, the old man laughed at his manner of putting it, and, withoutfurther ado, we all went down to the bird's nest in the hollow,and there we lighted a fire in the shelter of the pit, and oldClair-de-Lune going away in search of rations, he returned presentlywith victuals enough to feed a missionary, and more than that, aspretty a trio to serve them as any seaman could hope for. For whatshould happen but that the three young girls we'd seen yesterday inthe woods came romping up the hill together; and one bringing a greatcan for the coffee, and another a basket of luscious fruit, and athird some new-made bread and biscuit--they ran down the ladder to usand began to talk in their pretty language, and now and then inEnglish which did not need much understanding.
"I am Rosamunda," says one.
And the second, she says:
"I am Sylvia--Sylvia--Sylvia."
And the third, she chimes in with:
"I am Celestine, and I have brought you bread."
And they all stood together, shy and natural, looking now at one, nowat another of us; but most often, I thought, at little Dolly Venn, whohad a way of making them understand which an older man might haveenvied.
"And wonderful pretty names, too, young ladies, though a seaman doesn'toften hear the likes of 'em," cries Peter Bligh, gallant enough, as allIrishmen are. "They're all Pollies in our parts, and it do come easierto the tongue and more convenient if you know many of 'em. Whereby didyou hitch up names like those?" asks he; "which, askin' your pardon,seem to me to be took out of a picture-book."
They giggled at this; but old Clair-de-Lune, who was mighty proud ofthem, and justly, answered Peter Bligh as though the question wereserious.
"Monsieur, in my own country I am artiste; I play the drama, thecomedy, the tragedy. Clair-de-Lune they call me at the theatre. To thedaughters of my master I give the artiste's name--why not? Better thegood name than the bad name! It was long year ago, shipmate; the BelleIle was wrecked on these reef; the maitre is drowned, but I and theyoung ladies are save. We come, we go, none interfere. The Governor isangry, we hide in the hill; the Governor laugh, we go down to thevalley. When the sleep-time comes, we go to the house under the sea:you shall find him a dangerous time, but we hide far down. Nonefrighten Clair-de-Lune; they frighten of him. He become the fatheraccording to his best."
It was touching, I must say, to hear this old man's broken story; andprettier still to see the affectionate eyes with which these littlegirls watched every movement of one to whom, I am sure, they werebeholden for all that they got out of Ken's Island. For the rest, thetale was plain enough. The father had been wrecked and drowned on thesword-fish reef; the servant had saved the children and himself fromthe ship, and his own natural cleverness had done the rest. No oneinterfered with him, he said; and this was true. I verily believe thatthe devils in the valley below believed that he and the children withhim were nothing more or less than spirits.
I say his story was plain, and yet there was something in it which wasGreek to me. He had named a house under the sea, and what that meant,or how any man could build such a house, lay beyond my understanding. Ishould have asked a question about it there and then, and have soughtlight on the matter if it hadn't been that the food was already cooked,and, the others being mighty anxious, we sat down to steaming coffeeand broiled kid's flesh and good bread and sweet fruit, and I was verywilling to keep my curiosity. Once, it is true, the young girl whocalled herself "Rosamunda" came and sat by my side and wished to talkto me; but, prettily as she spoke our tongue, her measure of it waslimited, and we did not get very far, in spite of good intentions.
"Do you like the island, do you like living here?" I asked her.
She answered me with a doubting shake of her pretty head.
"In the sun-months, yes, I like it; but not in the sleep-time. You willgo away before the sleep-time, monsieur?"
"Really, young lady," said I, "it seems to me that it depends uponMister Jacob and the ship. But, supposing I cannot go away--what then?How does the sleep-time concern me?"
"You must not stay," she said, quickly; "for us it is different; we--welive in the house under the sea, but no stranger may live there--theGovernor would not permit it. On the island all things sleep. If you donot go to the house under the sea--ah, monsieur, but you will sailaway, you will sail in your ship."
She put it very childishly, the same cock-and-bull story that the oldFrenchman had been at last night. What to make of it, I knew no morethan the dead. Here we seemed to be on as fair an island as the wholePacific might show you; and yet these odd folk could talk of sun-monthsand sleep-time, and other stuff which might have been written in afairy-book. Do you wonder that I laughed at them and treated it as anysane man, not given to fables, would have done?
"Sleep-time or sun-time, I'll be away before then, please God,mademoiselle," said I; "do not fear for Jasper Begg, who was alwaysfond of his bed and won't grumble overmuch, be it sleep or waking. Forthe rest, we'll take our chance, as others must do here, I fancy. Mme.Czerny, for instance--do you know Mme. Czerny, young lady?"
She nodded her head and said that she did.
"Yes, yes, we know Mme. Czerny; she is the Governor's wife. I think sheis unhappy, Monsieur Captain. In the sun-months I see her, but in thesleep-time she lives in the house under the sea, and no one knows. Youare her friend, perhaps; you would know that she is unhappy?"
I knew it well enough; but I wished to lead this little talker on, andso I said I did not.
"Unhappy, young lady! Why should she be unhappy?"
I asked it naturally, as though I was very surprised; but you could notdeceive Mlle. Rosamunda. A more artful little witch never played atfair
ies in a wood.
"If she is not unhappy, why have you come here, Monsieur Captain? Youcome to help her--oh, I know! And you say that you do not."
"Perhaps so, young lady; perhaps I do--that I will tell you by-and-bye.But I am curious about the Governor. What sort of a man is he, andwhere does he happen to be at this particular moment? I'm sure youcould say something nice about him if you tried."
She looked at me with her big, questioning eyes.]
She looked at me with her big, questioning eyes, as though the questionwere but half understood. Presently she said:
"You laugh at me. M. Czerny has gone away to the world. Of course hewould go. He has gone in the ship. What shall